


A Measurement of Forever

by Nitzer



Category: SHINee
Genre: 2min are (for the most part) very playful, Canon Compliant, Complicated Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Lots of kissing, M/M, idk what it is tbh, it seems very bad at first but everyone is really happy, it's mainly 2 min but the taekai still exists, lots of commentary on idol culture/sm tbh, lots of petnames, lots of time spent in japan, not really angst not really fluff not really smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:14:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17770931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitzer/pseuds/Nitzer
Summary: It starts (kind of) with thinking about kissing him on stage and it ends (kind of) with kissing him on stage. It's the middle that's messy.Or Minho finds his place in Taemin's life when it looks like every place is already taken.





	A Measurement of Forever

**Author's Note:**

> this more or less goes in chronological order from SHINee's debut to present day but the timeline is kinda warped (i tried my best OTL) so it very vaguely mentions Jonghyun's passing at the very very end  
> i take lots of shots at idol culture and specifically SM in here which i kinda didn't mean to bc i really think there are much worse companies out there i just feel like i have a better grasp on SM's....idk company culture i guess? so i talk about it lots

This wasn’t meant to be forever. I always knew that this wasn’t meant for forevers. You couldn’t sit on top of the world forever. You couldn’t always be the favored sons. It was just something that slotted so perfectly into what we already had. It was an indulgence. It was the cheat day on our diets. It was the meal we were allowed because it was on broadcast. It was sleeping in until noon on the first of our days off. It was passing out without a shower because the salon noonas already washed your hair today. It was something that we could only have right now. It didn’t make it any less sweet, though.

Taemin never notices that he’s the shining star—the crown jewel of the whole company. He just wants to dance. And that makes him all the more valuable. He dances and dances and dances until the practice room is supposed to be closed and he nervously and hurriedly bows to every staff member he passes by and smiles brightly with a face that will obviously be beautiful in just a few years. He’s the kind of pure, beautiful _potential_ that the company is always striving to find. So they send him out young. Really young. _Too_ young. And me and Kibum are only a year older but Taemin is a _child_. He’s _fifteen_. He’s _too young_. So we all put our hands out to shield him when he’s weak and catch him when he stumbles or just to rest his head in when he’s tired. He’s our baby, our star, our angel. We have to because we’re his last line of defense when the company only wants the most from us, not the best.

I pick Taemin up and hold him by the waist easily, when I still can. When he is still the baby, still too young and his only concept is “cute” and “talented.” He’s still wiry and thin, my fingers easily able to circle his entire arm. I shake him around (gently—gently, of course—he’s still entirely breakable, always has been) from where I hold him and he screeches and shrieks like a kid. He’s still a kid. He still deserves someone to play around with him when the staff is always asking about contracts and liability and expecting more from him. We don’t expect anything. He’s already given us enough and it’s only been months. But his musical, wheezing laughter rings out in the practice room still, as much of a gift as anything else he’s ever given us.

During the next break, he butts his head into mine where we’re sitting next to each other, tackling me to the ground as softly as anyone ever could. There is no force to make me gently flop over under him. I’m not all wiry strength meant for dancing and thin, thin limbs. I’m an athlete. I’m a pretty, sculpted body. That’s what I’m here for. I could easily flip us over and pin his wrists above his head. And he knows that too, I picked him up barely an hour ago. I can overpower him easily. He watched me sweep every event I was in during the ISACs. But this isn’t the ISACs, there isn’t a gold medal waiting for at the end of this. There’s no reason to win. Instead I press my fingers into his sides and watch him squirm and giggle and experience real happiness like I rarely get to see. And it’s the rough-housing, the playfulness, the real brotherly bonding that the company encourages but gives us no time for. It’s something that Taemin deserves. It’s something he only does with me. It’s what I can offer to him so that he knows he’s precious. It takes a village, you know.

I’m not the one that spends nights in the practice room with Taemin, falling asleep on the couch because he doesn’t want to leave when the janitors lock up for the night. I’m not the first one Taemin looks to when he starts crying. I’m not the always the one Taemin rests his head on during long international flights. I’m not the one Taemin so clearly, desperately misses when we’re out of Seoul. I’m not the _one_ for Taemin. I’m not the only one he shares a bed with. I’m not the only one that makes his face light up like the sun. I’m just one of many. But Taemin is so loved, loved, loved I could never hope to be the only one. I’m just the only one that Taemin play fights with on the floor of a dingy practice room. I’m the only one that can so thoroughly surprise Taemin so he _shrieks_ in delight. I’m the only one that Taemin makes fun of in interviews—his eyes sparkling mischievously. I’m the one that Taemin goes to when Tokyo nights are long and lonely and too far from home and who really wants to be held by. I’m just one of many. Because Taemin is a star, an angel. Because he is loved, loved, loved.

Taemin rests his head in my lap on the worn couch backstage for some music show. His hair is too long and ill-suited to his face but he really is growing into his face. He really is becoming the kind of beautiful we all saw coming and it’s breathtaking. I’m not allowed to comb my hands through his hair because it’s already been styled and it’s like fighting my deepest instinct to keep my hands by my sides. “Tired?” I ask instead, fond—so unbelievably fond. He makes some kind of noise that is not a response and buries his face deeper into my lap. A sly and pleased smile graces his lips and this could be a game to him. He is too close, pushing boundaries that he probably shouldn’t especially not in a waiting room. But he hasn’t been doing well with debut. The excitement already wore off and now he’s just tired and _missing_ —longing, yearning. We’re spending more time away from the company building and we’re living together now, just the five of us (and sometimes our manager). And Taemin wasn’t even supposed to be here, with us, he was too young. We all expected him to be put in that other group, even himself. So he settled down with them. But they ripped him away and now he was _missing_.

I’m not stupid. And I’m not oblivious. I was not the only one for Taemin. Sometimes I wasn’t even his first choice. And he spent less time with all of us but especially less time with me when we were home and our schedules weren’t packed and Exo were home too. It was only after weeks in Japan that Taemin crawled into my bed and dragged me out on trips that were quiet and intimate enough that they could be dates. Taemin wanted me most, needed me most, when Jongin wasn’t available. I noticed. I knew. But it was always Jongin and Taemin whispering to each other in the cafeteria. And Taemin and Jongin sleeping on the couch in the dance practice room because neither of them wanted to go home yet. They were meant for each other, truly. They clicked like puzzle pieces and made each other so happy. And I didn’t mind. I didn’t love Taemin in a way that left me jealous. I didn’t love Taemin in any way that I could really name. This was just for right now, anyway. This was never meant for forever.

It’s the end of a show and we’re all drenched through to our matching “SHINee” shirts. Jinki is at the front of us, thanking all of the staff and the audience. Taemin is right next to me, buzzing with so much excess energy that I can _feel_ it. He was made for the stage—really, truly—and he’s so happy here. He turns to look at me (he looks _up_ at me because he probably still has a few inches of growing to do) with a grin so giddy and wide it looks like it’ll split his whole face in half. And I’m sure I’m fondly looking down at him. And he bounces on his toes, pursing and unpursing his lips like he’s thinking real hard about something and I wanna kiss him. I do. And I think maybe he wants to kiss me too. But the lights aren’t nearly dim enough back here to get away with it and Jinki isn’t nearly charismatic enough to steal the crowd’s attention if we do. So Taemin just tilts his face in front of mine before turning back to the audience and linking our pinkies together. He waves at the fans enthusiastically with his free hand, another burst of energy running through his little body. I figure he’ll be sharing a bed with one of us tonight, talking himself into exhaustion because he’s just so excited by everything. It might be me. It might not.

I’m good for Taemin—I’m best for Taemin—when he’s just so excited he doesn’t know what to do with himself. I’m who he turns to when his whole body is buzzing with energy. I’m who he playfights with. I’m the one he knocks to the floor so he can hit me with a pillow or a plushie. When we’re waiting backstage and Taemin is just so excited to be out there—where he belongs—again, I offer my hand and he squeezes so hard it digs his blunt little nails into my skin. And he looks so frail but his dancer strength really is worth something because it leaves my hand aching afterwards. But I’m an athlete. I’m a strong, sculpted, beautiful body. And that’s what I’m here for. Taemin can take out whatever he wants on me because I can take it. Our little dancer shouldn’t have anything weighing him down.

We are on top of the world, all of us, and we are finally the favored sons. It is probably no coincidence that it all hits once Super Junior starts to look down at mandatory military services and M is basically disbanded and members are starting to flake off like old paint. It’s _our_ time. Just like how the Super Junior hyungs told us that the company would stop breathing down our necks, loosen our leash a little once they debuted another boy group. We don’t get to rule the world until Super Junior steps down. It’s only fair. And we are all over the world. And we’re stretched too thin between concerts and variety shows and whatever other performances I can barely remember. And speeding down some highway that looks like all the other ones, Taemin leans over to me in the van and pushes unruly, probably damaged hair away from my face. “Can I put your hair up?” He asks, innocent doe eyes too close for me to make any sort of rational decision.

“Why?” I breathe out. A streetlamp flashes quickly over his features and it’s like he really glows—like he’s really the angel I always call him.

He shrugs easily. “Seems like fun.” We haven’t been home in a really long time and Jongin and Moongyu and all his other friends are still locked up in the trainee rooms. And Kibum is nodding off against the window with his mouth hanging open already. And even though we saw thousands of fans just hours ago, I think Taemin is just genuinely _lonely_. Which is stupid, ridiculous, should be impossible because he is so _loved_. He is the glittering crown jewel of SHINee, of SM, of the whole k-pop world. And he’s hiding his desire to touch and be touched in something casual like I could refuse him—like _anyone ever_ would refuse him.

“C’mere.” I shift him closer to me, close enough that the seatbelt is probably digging into his side. “You can have whatever you want from me, you know?” I whisper to him.

He giggles softly at the way my lips tickle at his ear. “From _you_?” He considers, tilting his head like he’s still our cute baby who doesn’t know anything. “Yeah, I know.” He smiles.

“Then what do you really want?” I ask, my hands finding a familiar spot on Taemin’s hips.

“I don’t know.” He looks down and drags his fingers over the ridiculous leather pants I’m still wearing. “Just…you, I guess.” He finally settles on, casting his eyes back up to mine.

“Then you have me.” I promise, wrapping my arms around him. But I don’t think I’m really what he wants. I’m just what he has for right now.

Taemin always kisses me like it’s a game. It’s always peck, peck, peck so soft and quick it could almost be friendly, making me chase after him. He’s always smiling so big into the kiss that it’s almost hard to meet his lips, giggling into my mouth with staccato, little breaths. Even if he initiates, I’m always the one who has to make it a _kiss_. I’m always chasing, chasing, chasing—slotting my hand around his jaw to hold him steady, cupping his face, pulling him in by his hair. But he gives in so easy, melting into me. It’s a game with no winners and no losers. It’s just his fingers curled into the collar of my shirt—letting himself be caught every time—and his harsh little pants hitting my face whenever I threaten to part from him. He rarely tastes sweet or intoxicating like an indulgence should. But I know that it’s an indulgence every time. I know that the stage will end. Or we’ll return from Tokyo or Hong Kong or New York. Or Jongin will come back. It’s just something to enjoy for the moment.

It’s drizzling and gray our first free day in Tokyo. I want to do _something_ , I want to see Tokyo really. I just haven’t figured out _what_ with the unpleasant weather. I still haven’t found anything when someone starts banging on my hotel door. “Minho!” Taemin calls, a fake sweetness coating his voice.

I barely swing the door open before he’s talking again. “We should go to that dango place. You know the one.” His tone is sing-songy and playful, a request that’s really more of a command. But all of his requests are really more of commands when I’ve never found it in me to say no.

“I know the one?” I confirm. Taemin’s not usually fond of sweets and is so good at being controlled and responsible when we’re home. The sweets are a rare indulgence saved for the road.

“Yeah, the one by the hotel from our first Japanese promotions.” It’s all casual but our first Japanese promotions feel lifetimes away now that we’re really on top of the world, now that we are the favored sons. All four of us were shoved into one hotel room back then, Jinki sharing one with the staff because the company didn’t want to waste too much on what was still a gamble. And Taemin spent every night sleeping on top of me, still kissing me with too much inexperience and enthusiasm. But I didn’t know what inexperience tasted like anyway. And he still looked like a kid, still had growing to do, still wasn’t as beautiful as he’d end up being.

Now we _are_ on top of the world. We _are_ the favored sons. And Taemin is staring me down with a face more beautiful than anyone could’ve imagined, even with all his sparkling potential, and auburn hair that fits him for once. I can’t say—can never say—that there is no more room for him to stun me again and again, that he’s done growing. But he’s already far surpassed even our wildest predictions. Confident and talented and beautiful and knocking on _my_ door again when the close quarters no longer force us together. “Yeah.” I reply, distracted by his everything.

He preens under the attention—just a little bit, just what he isn’t allowed when there are other eyes on him—and plops down in the plush chair in the corner of the room. “Sucks that it’s raining, though.” He pouts, looking at the soft lights already dotting the gray skyline.

But it doesn’t suck that much. It barely sucks at all. Taemin is wearing something stylish and minimalistic that I don’t know the name for and I’m wearing a heavy pea coat. And even if we weren’t dressed for the weather I don’t think the cold could get through to us. Taemin is giggly and handsy the entire walk to the dango shop. So unbelievably pretty, shining like the sun under the drizzle. And when the chill starts to get past his sunny mood to his body and his delicate fingers start to tremble, he just shoves his whole hand into my coat pocket, sharing his heat pack with me.

It’s a date. It’s as much of a date as two of the most popular idols can have in the middle of Tokyo, neither of us even wearing face masks or hiding under umbrellas. Taemin feeds me his dango, cutely saying “ah” as he pushes the sweet into my face. And he lets me pay and he asks me about Junmyeon and my parents. And he spends the whole time just a few shreds of self-restraint from kissing me in front of the entire world. But Taemin doesn’t make rumors. He’s our crown jewel. And, even so, I’m not the one he should be starting rumors with to begin with. He’s already in love so deeply I couldn’t hope to even scratch the surface of it.

I should probably spend my only free day in Tokyo seeing the city. I mean, I get so many opportunities to see Taemin already. But all I can see of the city is gray and silver anyway. And once Taemin pulls me in for a kiss in the hallway of our hotel, I know it’s all over. And even if I have to hold him there to make it a _kiss_ , he lets himself be caught so easily. The whole day has been for him, about him. I never had a say in any of this. But his lips are sweet with red bean paste for once and he is no longer inexperience and enthusiasm. The years of dancing and _growing up_ leaves him slinky and seductive in a way that I don’t notice our baby has become. There is no room left to refuse him. The games, the playfulness are all pretense now. He can just take what he wants. (But maybe the playfulness, the chase of it all, is what he really wants anyway.)

“Slow down, baby.” I groan against his lips, his hands rushing over more tiny buttons than any shirt should ever have. “We’ve got all day.” I placate.

“You’d spend your one free day here, like this?” He teases and the smirk he gives me is fitting his angelic little mouth too well for my sanity.

“You know I would.” I promise.

He laughs, exposing more of his neck to me like he was something I could _claim_. Like he didn’t already belong somewhere else, to _someone_ else. “You really are a fool for me.” He casts enchanting, half-lidded, doe eyes towards me.

He’s right. We’re all fools for him. Everyone who had ever laid eyes on Taemin would be the same way. I just got the pleasure of watching him grow up, fit his own skin, chase his dreams. I got the pleasure of spending a whole drizzly and gray Tokyo day with him in _my_ hotel room. I just got the pleasure of showering him in a fraction of the love he deserved. “You’re meant to be loved, to be spoilt. I’m just giving you what you deserve, angel.”

And that finally cracks his practiced seduction. He turns his face away from me, pink dusting his cheeks. “Then stop wearing these stupid, complicated shirts.” He grumbles.

“I can just rip it off, if it’s such a nuisance.” I offer, pressing my lips right against the shell of his ear.

“That doesn’t impress me anymore.” He teases and even fucking him is a game, really. Taking in little bursts, going as far as I think he wants. I can only take what is offered. But I’ve had a lot of practice with this game and he always makes sure that playing by his rules is worth it. Like I would ever just stop playing. Like there’s anything in the world that would ever make me turn away from him. I was his fool. He knew.

And it doesn’t escape my notice that it’s two weeks into our stay in Japan. That we’ve been away from Seoul for even longer than that. Our plane home has already been booked. It’s only a few more days. But the longing and loneliness is so sharp and obvious on Taemin that I feel it in every one of his calculated moves. He’s _missing_ again. We’ve been away for too long. And it is so overwhelming that the pain is even starting to worm into my heart. This isn’t what he deserves, to hurt like this, to have to take me to the places he wishes he was visiting with Jongin instead. So I touch him in every way possible, keeping our fingers tangled, my lips brushing over his aching heart even while I’m buried deep inside of him. It is not the best way to soothe a heartache. But it’s what he seems to be asking for. So I comply, like always.

I know I’m not just a Jongin replacement to Taemin. I wouldn’t be a good one anyway. Jongin was so much softer, so much more talented, _got_ Taemin in a way I just never would. If Taemin was looking for a Jongin replacement, he could do a lot better. I was something else entirely to Taemin. I was where all of the feelings that Taemin had for SHINee—for the whole thing, for his dreams and his art and his beloved members—went when they couldn’t go anywhere else. Because Taemin loved _SHINee_ , nearly as much as he loved Jongin. And sometimes he couldn’t express it just by being the golden maknae that he was. Sometimes there was something burning in his core, for the whole thing, that he couldn’t give to Jinki or Jonghyun or Kibum just by being cute and talented and angelic and _beloved_. Sometimes he had to kiss me like he was _starving_ because I could see more than a beloved maknae. Sometimes he had to drag me down into the fire so he didn’t just burn up from the inside. It certainly wasn’t something he could drag Jongin into. It had nothing to do with him.

I come home later than normal one night. The dorms are dark and quiet when I set my bag down and creep to my room. There are two figures in Kibum’s bed when I slip in. Kibum is fast asleep, snoring loud enough to cover up any noise I make. Taemin has his head pillowed on Kibum’s arm, his whole body relaxed but his eyes just barely cracked open. “Oh, Minho,” he greets, his voice silky and smooth this late.

“Hey, angel,” I greet softly.

He lets out a puff of a laugh at the petname. He’s not anxious and he’s not looking for someone to hold him together. He just chose not to spend another night in an empty bed.

“Why aren’t you asleep yet?” I ask. I also don’t have to spend the night in an empty bed. Jinki has always been kind and accommodating, never turning away any of us.

“Heard you come home.” He answers simply, his mouth still half-covered by Kibum’s arm. I can barely make him out over Kibum’s snoring. There’s no way he heard me creep in here. Not with everything else I’ve seen Taemin sleep through. “It’s fine, though. I don’t have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” I ask, taking a step closer, my hands hovering near him but not daring to touch. He chose Kibum that night anyway. “I still want you to sleep tight, angel.”

He reads the hesitance somewhere in my body and gives me a sleepy smile, offering a limp hand up to me. “Sleep well, hyung.” He murmurs and I kiss the back of his hand gently. I’m not always the one he shares a bed with. He’s not always the one I share a bed with. We are both just taking what we can. And sometimes that means a chaste kiss and a night spent in different beds.

It starts out with me being able to pick up Taemin and hold him tight and take the full force of his body weight whenever he decides to rest it on me. I’m _strong_ enough. It’s something I _can_ do. But the more Taemin grows up and branches out and becomes more than our cute, talented maknae, the less it’s about that. It’s all about being _allowed_. I probably still could manhandle Taemin however I wanted but it’s definitely not as easy anymore. I’d have to _try_ to get him to do anything he wasn’t planning on doing and I never want to force him anyway. So I am always waiting to be allowed. But he almost always allows, enthusiastically. When I wrap my arms around his middle on stage, he allows himself to be picked up, his laughter ringing in my ears over the crowd. When I brush the backs of our hands together, he allows me to lace our fingers together. It’s his late night texts that let me know that I’m allowed in his bed even when it’s only feet away.

But when he wins that event and his whole stronger, bigger, more built body is full of more energy than it can contain he comes barreling at me. I’m not only allowed to pick him up, I _have_ to catch him as he jumps into my arms. And he’s jumping into _my_ arms, over-excited like always, spinning us around with the force of his jump. And he just feels so good in my arms and I’m so proud of him I don’t know what to do with myself for once. When I set him down, he keeps his face close to mine, so close we nearly kiss. And I think we’re going to for a second. I love him so much it’s not such an outlandish outcome. But there are cameras everywhere and I’m not the one he loves enough to go public with it. Our relationship isn’t really like that. So this time neither of us are allowed.

I know what’s happening once Taemin follows me to my hotel room instead of his. But it’s been implied all night anyway. There is something heavy and undeniably _sexual_ crackling in the air, the entire concert. It’s probably the wet heat of Brazil and the panties strewn across the stage we pass by while leaving. Taemin has his hands all over Jonghyun the entire concert and I’m almost shocked when he follows me back to my room instead. He kicks off what’s left of his sweat-soaked costume in the middle of my hotel room, sparing me a teasing glance. “Come shower with me?” He invites.

It’s my shower and I should be inviting him if anything. But he’s been so pent-up all night, all of the energy of the crowd building up inside of him. And, like always, I’m just happy to have his hands on me. “Of course.”

“Fucking in the shower” is rarely really _fucking_ in the shower. Both of our bodies are too valuable to risk an accident like that. And I’m not the one that should be starting any scandals with Taemin anyway. So it is just hands and mouths all over, drunk on the steam and each other. There’s not much Taemin can do but rut against me but he still is, his face screwed up in pleasure. I can’t feel his breath over the water but I can hear the panting. And with a whimper in his throat, he thrusts up and just barely ghosts his nails over my back.

“Don’t hold back.” I get out, my voice strained. “I can take it.”

He smirks, his eyes clearing up. “I don’t know anyone who can’t.”

And he’s right. Even with Taemin getting stronger each day—moving past dancer strength right into just being _strong_ —everyone he knows is _strong_ too. Jongin could absolutely take this, so could Jonghyun, even skinny, skinny Jinki probably could. I wasn’t the only sturdy hyung who could take whatever Taemin gave. I doubt I was _ever_ the only one. “Then don’t hold back.” I repeat.

So he tightens my hold on his waist and ruts into me again, raking his nails down his back so hard it _sears_ under the hot water. There’s probably blood leaking down my back but I don’t mind the pain now and I won’t mind the scabs in the morning. I gave him a challenge and he took it. And I take the consequences. Because I might not be the _only_ sturdy hyung in Taemin’s life but I can _always_ take what he gives.

The company stops sending Taemin off to “special stages” in wigs and skirts to do girl group dances next to Shindong and, if he was lucky, Kibum before we become the favored sons. It’s fun and Taemin looks good in whatever costume they scrounge up and he’s very good at the choreography. It just doesn’t fit our image. We’re not wild and unpredictable like Super Junior, we’re reserved and talented beyond belief. And we all still end up in girl costumes at some point because it’s like 2012 or something and it’s the trend. But we stop sending Taemin off to dance nervously between sunbaes with so much more experience who are so much harder to embarrass.

It’s not until we’re filming a VCR for our Japanese concert that Taemin ends up the only one in a dress and a wig again. I don’t really understand why Taemin is in a dress and a wig again but I never really understand Japanese promotions, no matter how long they drag on. I just know that Taemin is standing in a picturesque field, white dress fluttering in the light breeze, his surprisingly quality wig following suit. And it’s breath-taking because he’s _always_ breath-taking. There’s not a moment where I can look at Lee Taemin and my heartbeat doesn’t stutter. Maybe it picks up more than normal with this costume, something about the stark white against the bright green that should be so ugly but somehow is so…not. The costume staff probably aren’t even proud of it, it’s just whatever dress and pair of tights they had that would actually fit Taemin. I’m smitten regardless, like always.

We aren’t even in Japan yet. We’re not bouncing between five or so hotel rooms, all of the doors open like the hallway was a common space. We’re still home and there isn’t that much meaning to following Taemin to a room that might as well be mine (or Jonghyun’s or Jinki’s or Kibum’s) as there was to assigned hotel rooms but it still meant something. “You like me best all dolled up, huh?” Taemin jokes after I’ve followed him to his room. He’s no longer any kind of “dolled up” the costume and wig left with the company.

“What?” I manage, lamely. I don’t. He’s _always_ breath-taking. If anything it’s the colors on his skin not the girl costume.

“When they put me in a dress or whatever,” he giggles softly, throwing his hand around, “that’s always when you follow me around.”

“Maybe I just miss you.” I offer. It’s the beginning of becoming SHINee again after spending our time as five barely connected solo artists.

“Maybe you just miss girls.” He teases, running his finger down my chest. And it’s practiced seduction again. It’s what his fans get when he performs “Thirsty” or “Move.” It’s stage Taemin in his own room with someone who’s known him far too long to be fooled by this.

“Are you trying to set me up?” I play along, pushing him back towards the bed.

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second, pain or shock or something like that flashing through them. But it’s only a fraction of a second before it’s shoved back down. The chase is all part of the game anyway. “I could get the wig back, if you really want.” He offers flippantly like there’s not some jealousy, some insecurity in the way he’s suddenly draped over my body.

It’s the wrong answer, to play into the game he has set up for me, for once. I watch one stupid joke shock him out of his practiced, minx persona and it hurts. Because more than anything I want to be where Taemin feels safe. I want him to know that I can take whatever he gives and that I _will_ take whatever he gives me. That I’m here for him. So I wrap strong arms around and body that hasn’t been weak or slight or delicate in years and hold him tight. “Don’t bother.” I laugh. “There’s not a single second when you’re not taking my breath away.” And everything strung tight in his body finally melts against me. “You’re so beautiful, Tae.”

“Save it for the fans.” He laughs but it doesn’t matter how fucking cheesy it is because his body is lax against mine again and we’re joking again. And whatever it was that flashed across the surface is buried in a shallow grave but it’s buried at least.

_you’re my favorite boy,_ I text Taemin days later in a chatroom with just the two of us. It’s full of vague, half-finished conversations like this. All soothing over wounds we never intended to make, because this is the closest we get to talking about anything.

I see the ellipses appear and disappear at the bottom of the screen a couple of times before I get a cutsey, smiling emoji in the place of a real response.

I don’t have a Jongin. In that my relationship with Jongin is, at best, a casual acquaintanceship. But, more importantly, I don’t have anyone I love like Taemin loves Jongin. I don’t have anyone I was that close to, that dedicated to. It’s not that I’m so wrapped up in Taemin that I can’t look elsewhere, that I’m trying to fit him to me in ways that I know he won’t. I just never find that person, maybe I’m not looking too hard. The company never told us we couldn’t date. I watched the company _fabricate_ relationships, all pretty and pre-packaged for the media and almost always faked and short-lived. But the company never targets us. We’re the golden children, there’s never any rumors to try to cover up with a dating announcement. What the company does instead, is work us so hard we can’t think of anything outside of our schedule. And I’ve made projects for myself and tried to win everything I could get my hands on since debut. I don’t have time to think about dating or to feel lonely. I’m sure I could get a cute, idol boyfriend if I really wanted to (I’m sure I could even get a cute, Exo boyfriend if I really set my mind to it). I just know how much you have to love someone to go through with that. I know how much it hurts everyone involved. So nothing ever works out for me. And I don’t love Taemin the way he loves Jongin or the way Jongin loves him but I know I love him some way. Even though there is a whole void in me and only Taemin to fill it, I can already feel the gaps and holes in myself that only Taemin can fill. I already know that no matter who I fall in love with—how or when I find them—I will still feel incomplete without Taemin. But I also know I feel incomplete with him. I already know that I’ll always have an unfillable space (a bleeding, gaping hole) for him.

I don’t have any grand plan to surprise Taemin at his Japanese concert. It’s just his first solo concert in Japan and I know how much being so far away from home for so long bothers him. And he doesn’t have Jongin obviously, or Jinki or Jonghyun or Kibum this time. He’s really out there alone. And what we get in the groupchat is picturesque snapshots of Japan and Taemin being the golden maknae he always is. It feels manufactured.

I have a break in my schedule that lines up with one of Taemin’s performances and I’ve spent so much time in Japan already (with him, because of him, wrapped up in him so deep I can barely breathe). It’s no big deal. He needs—or, at least, _deserves_ —the support. I know everyone else is drowning under schedules, tossing whatever energy they have leftover Taemin’s way when they get a chance. But that’s not much. That’s not what our angel deserves. And I have a free spot. I have the chance to do something about it. So I do.

I surprise Taemin in the waiting room, in-between rehearsals and he _crumples_ in my arms as soon as he realizes that it’s me. We’re surrounded by Japanese staff I’ve never seen before and the only manager Taemin has ever felt comfortable with and disinterested stadium staff and he is still relaxed and boneless in my arms. His body is changed in a way meant for the stage and feels unfamiliar under my hands but the sigh of pure relief against my neck is _home_. He is letting himself be caught and held, absolutely, but he is so vulnerable in my arms. He is _letting_ me. And the soft squeeze of delicate, little fingers around my arm lets me know that he is happy, that he appreciates this. And that's all I need. I am a sturdy resting place for him. He feels safe here. 

"Why didn't you say something?" He cries when he finally backs up, hitting my chest playfully. The blow is softened by his blinding smile.

"Surprise!" I finally say weakly and all the tension in the room bleeds out. The staff that froze to watch our reunion continue to bustle around the room. The concert preparations continue. 

"You're just gonna stress me out more like this." He hits me again, so lightly it must be for the contact more than anything else. And he is so touchy, so easy, so playful, just like all the other times he'd spent too many months in Japan. 

"How could _I_ stress you out?" I tease. "How could _I_ ever critique _your_ dancing or singing?"

"I'm just not ready for surprises." He complains but he's still beaming. "C'mere." He beckons excitedly. The world is moving around him again and I know how hectic concert preparations can get. But he keeps pulling me away from the waiting room. I guess he has more than a few minutes for me. "I have something to show you."

He pulls me to the stage and the whole, whole enormous stadium is absolutely empty and the view never ceases to stun me. We move right past the stage, though, into some dark corner in between curtains and scaffolding and his hands are on me, pulling me in—hurried and needy. I don't have to catch him. I don't have to make it a kiss—maybe I already caught him a few minutes ago when he crumpled into my arms. And he kisses me. He kisses me like he's drowning. He kisses me with desperation that Lee Taemin should not feel. His tongue slides against mine and he sighs into my mouth like the entire world had been lifted from his shoulders.

"How could you ever do anything but utterly fucking stun me, angel?" I breathe. 

He doesn't even argue, protest against it for being too cheesy, he just smiles up at me with all the stars in his eyes and kisses me again. He kisses me breathless and desperate. And it is overwhelming and easy to drown in like every time we had spent too long in Japan together. But this time the longing seems to dissipate on his tongue, doesn't linger on mine.

Taemin is restrained, disciplined, dedicated to his craft like always and he parts with me after barely a few minutes. But even a few minutes of stolen kisses leaves me stupid giddy like we're clumsy trainees again and Taemin still kisses me with a hard pursed mouth and little whines. He's still got a concert to prepare for, a whole country to stun and only so much time to kiss someone he is not truly and wholly in love with. 

I don’t have any big event planned out. I don’t have anything planned out at all. I don’t even have a sign to hold up. Taemin’s manager is at least kind enough to find me a spare fanlight in the stadium to let me use. So I stand somewhere against some railing in a long coat and a facemask with a borrowed fanlight and it’s obvious. It’s obvious that it’s me. The fansites are on me nearly as much as they’re on Taemin. He never even makes eye contact with me. I don’t know if he makes eye contact with anyone while performing. On the stage Taemin is for _everyone_. He is a gift to the world. He is living art and all I’m allowed to do—all _anyone_ is allowed to do—is appreciate.

You could not shake the SM professionalism and politeness out of Taemin if you tried. He thanks every staff member he can find in the stadium before he comes back to the waiting room I’m lounging in after the concert. He plops down on the couch next to me and leans his entire body weight onto me. “You looked amazing.” I praise.

“You looked like a bodyguard.” He mutters, the exhaustion obvious in his voice.

“For you?” I ponder. “I guess I could be.”

He shoves me and manages to get our bodies to part and I see the little spark in his eyes. He has more energy buzzing through his body than he realized. And that’s what I’m good for. That’s what I’m _best_ for. And Taemin is pulling me to a tiny changing room off the waiting room we’re in. The whole stadium is still alive with activity, staff everywhere and whatever is happening here has _implications_ at the very least and there are absolutely eyes on us. But SHINee is so squeaky clean. We always have been. We can have this one indulgence.

It’s a flurry of hands and tangled limbs, tripping into each other before I’m backed into a wall, Taemin pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to my skin. There is none of that dancer grace leftover from the stage. He is loose and clumsy, pressed against me desperately. It isn’t playful. It isn’t a game. There’s nothing left to catch with him pressed so tightly up against me. I don’t know what it is, really. It leaves something heavy and intensely sweet weighing down on all of me. It’s not longing this time.

“Can we take Minho back to the hotel too?” Taemin asks his personal manager sweetly. The manager he was most comfortable with, the one he chose to take to Japan with him. “We need to catch up.”

“You have a whole fucking van, Tae.” His manager laughs. “Of course.”

So I end up in the backseat of a van that is nearly identical to every van I’ve ever ridden in, Taemin pressed easily into my side like a sleepy kitten. He’s cuddly and pliant like a sleepy kitten but his hands keep wandering, his eyes sparkling mischievously. He’s still full of more than enough energy. And “catching up” is likely to be wordless. It’s the boundaries that Taemin especially likes to push with me—leaving implications and ideas with whoever happened to be watching. It was because anything could be considered “pushing boundaries” with Jongin. Because just being close with him was an implication.

Taemin’s hotel room is the kind of luxury that five kids shoved into a one-bedroom apartment in Seoul never could’ve _dreamed_ of. But we have already proved again and again that we are a safe bet. Taemin, especially, constantly proving that he could turn anything into gold—that he was _infallible_. And that he deserves to be treated at the crown jewel, as the best thing any of us have ever had to blessing to hold. He flops onto the plush chair in his sitting room gracelessly and boneless, someone free of prying eyes for once.

Taemin doesn’t drink. I know this. He especially never drinks with Jongin. They always have too much to catch up on to ever bother with slurred words and clumsy hands. And we were all so branded with, so thoroughly _suffocated_ with, SM’s restraint and professionalism to ever be irresponsible like that. But I knew when Taemin liked to drink. I knew that after way too long in Japan, he found some brand of beer he could actually pallet. And I knew what he was really trying to pallet was the searing and aching loneliness, that he wasn’t drinking for fun. But he never made it past playfully tipsy because SM’s  professionalism and restraint and desire for a spotless, golden public image was burned deeper into Taemin’s soul than anyone else’s.

So Taemin has some staff member bring up that Japanese beer he likes. And he sprawls over the chair in the corner, sloppily undressed—simultaneously inviting me to touch and showing me a striking vulnerability.  He’s talking about Jongin but he’s not talking about Jongin. He keeps weaving information casually into stories about Kibum, Baekhyun, Sooyoung, anyone else he can mention. We don’t talk about Jongin—neither of us. It’s some stupid superstition like Taemin can neatly keep these two halves of his life separated. Like they haven’t already messily overlapped in a hundred places—company concerts, Halloween parties, his own fucking dorm. It’s already a mess. It already looks so bad from the outside. And I already know where his love really lies. And Jongin already knows about the gaps and empty spaces and Taemin’s attempt to fill them. I even know about _Jongin’s_ gaps and spaces, about the indulgences he is allowed when he and Taemin are apart. It’s a nonissue here, closed off from the rest of the world. But he still blankets his thoughts, his feelings in stories about anyone else.

His movements are stilted and too fast. His words trip over each other, slurred and hurried. He’s still just pleasantly tipsy. It’s the surprise of letting go of that dancer grace and strength, that flawless public image, more than it’s the alcohol. It’s the build-up of months and months of making sure everything was tightly controlled and perfect that spills into such intense _imperfection_. He’s nearing the end of a story about him getting lost in the subway with his manager when his hand flies out in a too-big gesture that sends his beer glass flying off the side table. It smacks into the entertainment center next to it and shatters over the expensive carpet, soaking it with expensive beer.

Taemin freezes in his story and I freeze with my drink halfway to my mouth. We both stare emptily at the glittering shards of glass. Until Taemin lets his hand fall back to where it was resting gracelessly on the chair and laughs—too loud and too sudden. “Magic hands.” He laughs, wiggling his fingers at me as he gets lost in his own joke.

Neither of us make any attempt to clean up the glass. Taemin won’t be staying in this hotel much longer anyway. “You wanna come to bed?” I offer gently, making more of a show than an effort to get him out of the chair.

“Are you trying to cut me off?” He snorts. “Always taking care of me.” He tosses into the air. “Always wondering what’s best for Taemin, always playing the knight in shining armor.” The words aren’t carefully chosen, rushing out of his mouth like that. They’re errant thoughts, tossed out to a _safe_ audience. To someone who’s never turned away regardless of what he’s said. “Shouldn’t I be a ‘princess’ instead of an ‘angel’ then?” He prods, pursing his lips at me in clumsy temptation.

“You don’t like ‘angel’?” Is the only thing I choose to acknowledge. It’s the only one I have words for.

“It’s always pet names with you.” He avoids answering just like me. “Why not my name?” He finally lets out in a tiny whisper.

“Taemin.” I whisper, depositing him on the expansive and plush hotel bed. “Lee Taemin.” I push him back, crawling over him. “Tae.”

He pushes at my chest and laughs. “Fine.” He concedes. “I get it.” He pushes his wrinkled collar away from his sweaty neck. “Just kiss me.”

So I do. Or he does. It is no longer about catching him, about making it a _kiss_. It’s just about mouths on each other, sharing breaths, being as close as our physical restraints will allow us. He kisses me slow and heated. I feel it sizzling underneath both of us. It blankets us tighter and tighter, warmer and warmer. We’re going to burn up together. He’s not desperate anymore, at least not frantically. He’s still sloppy and clumsy, alternately too fast and too slow for anything to be smooth. His fingers clutch into me where ever they can, his mouth cloyingly _something_. Not sweet. But something. I can’t get the taste—the _feeling_ —out of my mouth.

“Hey,” I whisper against him. I can still taste the beer, faintly, under everything else.

He groans in complaint, his fingers digging into my arm in protest.

“Just wait a second, Tae.” I placate, resting my pointer finger against his lips to keep him still. Taemin licks curiously at the finger like he’s deciding between sucking it into his mouth or biting it. “Let me get you some water.” I offer.

“Get me water later.” He whines, flopping away from me.

“I’m not gonna give you back to your manager hungover.” I snort.

“You’re not in charge of me.” He argues petulantly. “Neither is my manager.” He might be whining petulantly but he’s right. He just isn’t entirely in his right mind. He’s an adult. He’s in charge of himself.

“I just don’t want you hungover at all.” I crawl back off the bed. “Me either.”

He drops his hand dramatically over his eyes and sighs.

It’s shockingly domestic, grabbing Taemin a glass of water in his luxury hotel room. It’s no longer just _something_. It’s easier to define. It’s just the two of us, no other eyes, no other _anything_. We’re just a couple for once. It’s, I think, the first time. “I missed you.” I tell him, setting the glass on the table near him, hovering over him.

He’s partially tangled in the comforter, his legs smooth, long lines stretched out against the stark white of the comforter. He snorts, rolling towards me, tangling himself up in the comforter worse. “Just realized that now?”

“You don’t know how good you look right now.” I purr as some kind of response.

“I’m sure I looked better on stage.” He challenges.

“That’s for everyone, though.”

“I’m certainly not just for you.” He answers, too quick for it to be intentionally as cutting as it is. Taemin has never just been for me. Taemin can never just be for a single person. He was for the stage. And he loved Jongin and SHINee and dance. I was just a footnote in his grand adventure. I was just a companion for lonely nights in foreign hotels. But it’s also so quick it comes around to _defensive_. Of course Taemin isn’t just for one person. He shines too bright, captures too much attention, is too perfect and beautiful and everything else to ever look away from. Taemin is loved, loved, loved by _everyone_. There couldn’t be a _one_ for Taemin, he deserved so much more.

But, I think, this time it’s just me. I think that’s why he’s being like this. That’s why he’s so easy to catch, so desperate, so eager, so handsy. It’s just me, this time. For the first time, it’s just me. “Am I the first one to come see your concert?” I ask, barely more than a breath, the air around us frozen.

He laughs and it sounds at least half-delirious. “Yeah,” he lets his head fall away from me, “Choi Minho coming to the rescue again.”

“I’m just trying to give you whatever I can, angel.” I tuck my hand against his cheek.

He firmly keeps his face downcast, eyes away from mine. “You’re just trying to make sure you’re first, the best in everything.” He hisses. “I’m not something you can _win_.”

I suppose it’s no longer a nebulous _something_ when it’s just the two of us, miles of sea away from anyone else that was ever a part of this. But the realer it gets, the more the whole thing stops looking so pretty. It only looks like a tangled mess. We are years and years—lifetimes of experiences and miles and miles away from the kids that started this. And all of the playfulness is left behind in hearts and hands that aren’t here right now. It’s just the two of us. And without anything to interfere, it’s hard to look at anything but Lee Taemin and Choi Minho. “I just want to love you…however I can.” I choke out.

“All these years and you never figured out how?” He laughs, mirthless and cold, finally craning his neck to meet my eyes.

I don’t have an answer for him because I was always playing by unsteady rules, always planning everything around his reaction. I was always just taking what I was allowed. I was limited on all sides by prying eyes and hyungs he loved (more? In different ways?) and Jongin and Taemin himself. There were too many ways to play this game and nothing concretely _right_ , no good way to _win_. “I know how I want to love you.” I snort too, frustrated and darkly amused with how different things look from up close. “I just never knew if that was the right answer.”

He softens into my touch, letting the full weight of his cheek rest in my palm. No matter how much time I spent watching Taemin grow up, grow into his talent and beauty and _potential_ something was stunted by the tight, tight restraints the company put on us. Something in Taemin was only partially formed and he was always, always—behind closed doors, between just us and the other members—a kid who needed someone to look at him. He was always caught between outbursts and tearful apologies. “Then love me how you want for tonight.” He offers. “Even if it’s just tonight, show me what you want.”

I swipe a soft thumb over his pretty, pronounced cheekbone. “I want to _worship_ you, angel.” I climb back onto the bed.

He giggles, soft and warm like spring. “I should’ve guessed you’d be like this.”

So I _worship_ Taemin. And he giggles and pounces and rolls us over on the expansive bed and _plays_. He finds whatever is left of that kid from, god, almost a decade ago and he keeps it playful. He reminds me to be in love while I worship. He keeps the whole thing from being so heavy that it pulls us down from the dizzying heights of the hotel right into the ground. He—like an angel, like the sun—lifts us up in-between the hazy stars of the city skyline. And I love him like I always wanted. Because there’s nothing holding me back this time.

I watch the sun rise in the land of the rising sun over all the subtle curves and hard lines of Taemin’s body. It’s breathtaking, more than nature can be alone. Neither of us have slept at all. Taemin stretches out like a cat and then nuzzles back into me. I run my hand over his hair soothingly. “I could stay a couple more days if you want.” I offer softly.

He twitches his nose, drawing aimless circles over my skin. “Don’t bother.” He finally murmurs.

“It won’t be a bother.” It won’t. I could text my manager to move a few things around right now. I can stay with Taemin until his next concert. I’d be happy to.

“No, go back whenever you’re supposed to.” He lets his pretty eyes wander up to my face.

“I’ll miss you.” I implore.

“I’ll miss you too.” He sighs, curious fingers turning into soothing hands over my skin. “But it’s fine.” He says casually. “I just needed a piece of home.” He takes my loose hand and holds is against his chest over his heart. He smiles up at my warmly and softly, his eyes crinkling up gently.

And _I_ am the one that Taemin wants for once. I am the one he’s looking for. I’m who he is going to miss. I’m his piece of home. It’s heavy and light at the same time—unbearably sweet, sending my heart skyrocketing through the stratosphere. It’s almost intoxicating. But I know it’s just for right now. I can only indulge. (I can only hope that Jongin truly and wholly appreciates the feeling.)

I don’t love Taemin, not in the way he deserves, not in the way I deserve either. It’s sacrifice after sacrifice. Turning myself into a martyr. Proving over and over that I’m worthy of an angel. It’s not the natural click he has with Jongin. It’s not easy. But it’s okay. It’s worth it. Because Taemin isn’t just the crown jewel of SHINee, of SM, of the whole industry, he’s the prettiest—the best, the sweetest, the most beautiful—thing I’ve ever held. And I will love him when Jongin is unavailable and when he shares a bed with Kibum and when he cries into Jinki’s arms. And when it’s weeks into being home, all of us busy with our own schedules and Taemin finds his way into my arms, his lips on mine like that’s where they belong. I will always love him in this requited, half-love. He will always fill this space, be this indulgence. I will always come back because I am not just filling the spaces that Jongin leaves behind. There are holes present in me, gaps in my relationships that only Taemin fills. Even if I was in love—really, truly in love like he is with Jongin—I would still come back. Because this whole thing was made to be half-done, to be unfulfilling and inescapable. When I set my hands on Taemin, lifting him up into a surprise hug as trainees, for the first time after I had already seen him passed out on the dance room couch with Jongin, I knew it wasn’t forever. I knew it was just an indulgence. And it was worth it. He was always worth it, for as long as I was allowed to have it.

We are no longer the favored sons. We have fallen from the top of the world. We have lasted long enough to enter the company tradition of _legends_ —Shinhwa, TVXQ, Super Junior and now, SHINee. We _can’t_ be the favored sons anymore, it’s been too long. Exo has already debuted. Exo, even, is starting to lose their place in the sun. The company has loosened their leash, lost an embarrassing amount of members and nearly lost M entirely. If our replacements, our beloved younger brothers, the company’s shiny new toy was no longer so shiny and new, we certainly weren’t the favored sons anymore.  The leash was so loose on us it might as well have not existed at all. The company barely ever looked at us anymore. We had either proven ourselves trustworthy or were nearly forgotten.

We still had concerts, though. It’s an Asia tour, not a world tour. Time is suddenly so limited, pressing down so insistently on us, we can’t just fly all over the world. And it’s almost casual—us and a stadium full of fans all sharing in-jokes and inconsequential secrets. Most of our choreography is sloppy or joking, nothing _needs_ to be tight or impressive anymore. We’re already legends, we’ve already proven ourselves. Now our fans are clamoring to see us loose and human and having fun. (It only took near ten years to be comfortably human in front of them.) We often cry in the middle of songs, the breakdowns are not entirely behind us yet. For now, it is forgiven.

It’s near the end of a concert, somewhere hot and sticky, I always have trouble keeping up with ‘where’ when we’re on tour. Kibum is telling some story to the fans that they find absolutely _hilarious_ , I can feel the roaring laughter in my bones. Taemin is all the way across the stage with Jinki, getting more water bottles from the staff. He makes eye contact with me as Kibum delivers what I assume is the punch line in English. I’ve barely been able to follow the story anyway. But I feel something spark and crackle between me and Taemin. It’s a familiar, nebulous, undefined _something_ undercut with intense want. Taemin just cocks his head and smiles curiously like we haven’t been through this a million times before.

Kibum recruits Jinki for his next story and I watch a baffled, out-of-his-depth Jinki struggle to keep up with Kibum’s excited English. Taemin coyly eyes me from partially behind the curtain, dragging his feet playfully. Then he’s bounding towards me, full-speed running across the stage and I’m prepared to catch him like I always am. But instead he skirts right around me, circling me teasingly. And it’s all a game. It’s almost the same game we played in worn practice rooms, tackling each other to the ground with no force behind it. It’s just about catching and holding, not winning.

So Taemin circles me, sizing me up like the world’s cutest baby shark. And I just turn slowly to watch him. Some of the crowd have caught on to our little game by now but most are still entranced with Kibum’s story or Jinki’s stumbling attempt to help. It doesn’t matter anyway, we’ve spent all night goofing around and spilling inconsequential secrets. From here, I can feel all of the pent-up energy pouring off of Taemin. I know it’s what I’m best for but I’m still glad he chose me to play around with.

Then Taemin goes from “close” to “absolutely in my personal space,” his face up in mine, tilted like he’s thinking about kissing me. And I’m thinking about kissing him, I have been since he looked at me from across the stage. I’ve been fantasizing about our hotel and kissing him in the hallway just for the thrill of it. But then Taemin is looking _up_ at me, standing on his tip toes because even those few inches of growing he had left to do still didn’t put him at my height. His face is pushing in closer to mine and I feel all the eyes in the audience shifting to us, the anticipation rising. I can still hear Kibum chattering away in the background but I’m utterly focused on Taemin and I’m pretty sure the crowd is too.

And he _does_ kiss me. A feather-light and playful little peck brushed against my lips for barely a second. And then he’s back to just being close, prancing around happily. I don’t even get the chance to hold him, to make it a kiss. Because it only just barely qualifies, is only a kiss in the sense that our lips met. But the crowd is _deafening_ with screeches and the sound of camera shutters clicking. I know that the moment is captured and probably sent out to the whole world by now and I couldn’t fucking care less. It’s already been too many years of telling myself that _I_ can’t be the one to make rumors with Taemin. That rumors are a Jongin privilege. I don’t get to do anything this time, it’s all in Taemin’s hands. It’s all Taemin catching me and kissing me in front of a whole stadium of our fans.

And it really, really doesn’t matter. I’d rather the world think I love Taemin than anyone else. I’d lose out on my whole carefully-crafted, precariously-balanced career to have Taemin barely peck my lips, his infectious giddiness sending a shock through my whole system. But it probably won’t be anything anyway. It’s just an Asia tour. It’s just a concert in Singapore or Jakarta or Manila or where ever we are tonight. Maybe our lips didn’t even really touch. Maybe what the cameras caught could just be a joke between members who are too close and abandoned any boundaries years ago. Or maybe it is really a kiss and everyone knows it by now, even Lee Sooman himself. Whatever, Shinhwa’s done worse. _Super Junior_ have done worse. Heechul had a whole special stage where he stuck his tongue down Siwon’s (or whoever else he could get his hands on) throat for a whole tour. This is just a peck. This is just the natural end to the game we’ve always been playing.

It’s just an Asia tour because time is pressing down on us now. Jinki is quickly approaching thirty and the rest of us aren’t far behind. Jonghyun will never perform with us again. SHINee may be legend now but we’re quickly learning that legends are not all eternal. Everything’s winding down. It’s a farewell (for now, at least) tour as much as no one is saying it. And everything has been pressing down on us so hard ever since the tour was announced, sucking the joy out of everything. We try so hard to not make it feel like our last but it is. It’s unavoidable.

And it’s so hard to _enjoy_ anything. We keep crying during ballads. Sometimes we cry in front of whole stadiums absolutely unprompted. There’s suddenly a stain on SHINee’s squeaky clean record and it has nothing to with me or Taemin or kissing. It’s nothing we can control. We’re not the golden children anymore. We’re something untouchable and infinitely respected, something angelic and otherworldly even though we are still here performing and making music. And even Taemin can’t enjoy the stage anymore. Even he’s just going through the motions for the last time.

But this once, for however long it lasts, he’s _loving_ the stage again. He’s living for the stage. He’s in love with SHINee again—all of us, the whole concept. He’s _happy_. He’s _overjoyed_. And he dumps it all onto me because that’s what I’m good for. I am where all of his love for SHINee goes when it can’t go anywhere else. And I know it can’t last forever. I always knew it couldn’t last forever but, as everything else crumbles around us, I’m seeing a _future_. “Not forever” just means _not_ forever. It accounts for all the gaps and holes in us, all the time we spend apart. And I can spend _something like_ forever, loving other things, working on the void inside of me and still hold Taemin whenever I get the chance. Because this whole thing was always made to be half-done and messy. I knew when I swept in and tried to be _something_ in Taemin’s life when I already knew he had the _one_.

It’s still worth it. Watching Taemin outshine the stage lights, a playful smirk gracing his unbelievably beautiful face, I know he’s happy again no matter how fleeting it is. And I can still feel all his excess energy hanging in the heavy, wet air. And Jongin is miles of ocean and countries away. And all the fans’ eyes are burning into us. And this time Jonghyun is not in the background of the photo, staring at us, I know. This time it’s just a moment. An _indulgence_. But I have no doubts, it was all worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> the ending is based on a fancam i remember watching late 2018 where taemin tip-toes to kiss minho at a concert and everyone was wearing really bright clothes and jonghyun was not there and i remember seeing at least 4 different angles of the kiss so a lot of fancams must've caught it but now i can't find literally a single trace of it so if you know what i'm talking about pls hmu [tumblr](angelinmyheartt.tumblr.com) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Nitzer)


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